QUARANTINE LIFE: REMEMBERING JULIUS

Today, I found out that one of my former students has died. 

Of the thousands of children who graced a seat in my Art class, there are those who stand out for one reason or another. Julius was just a free spirit; an old soul in a little kid's body. He was one of those students who draw the parent out of a teacher.

I hadn't seen him in the years since I left P.R. Harris Educational Center, and was happy when he sent a facebook friend request several years ago. I was glad, as I always am, to know my students are doing well. That they are adults with children of their own, always makes me feel old, but proud.

It's always hard to wrap my mind around the loss of young life.

Julius Magruder was one of those students you couldn't help but love, but Lawd, he was something else! He was a little guy; so wiry, sensitive, silly, inquisitive, and cunning. Classmates picked on him sometimes, and he'd dish as well as he could take, but when they'd go too far, he'd expect me to step in and save the day. He hated for anyone to talk about his mother--those were fighting words. There was just something endearing abut him even when he was being a pest. He was eager to learn, and was always lending a hand to clean the boards, pass out supplies, stack chairs, or organize crayons.  

He marched to the beat of his own drum, and was funny without even trying to be. When he graduated and went upstairs for secondary school, he knew I had extra pencils and paper...or a ruler...or scissors...or anything else he may have "accidentally" forgotten at home. Sometimes I think he'd forget on purpose just to have a reason to be in the hallways. "I need you to write me a pass, okay?"

"Miz Williams!" 

I can almost hear his voice.

I remember when I was working on my first recording, and had to be away from school. He would often ask where I'd been. "Miz Williams we missed Art class!", he'd say as if he was my supervisor. I'd tell him I'd been to Detroit, and he'd ask if I was going to move away or stop teaching--then look for Detroit on the globe. "That's far! How did you get there? Is it gonna be a real CD?" I told him it would be. "Will you put my name on it?" I promised him I'd give him a shout out. He was so excited when I gave him a copy, and he searched the liner notes for his name.

I laughed when I recalled how enthusiastic he'd been about working on The Duke Ellington Project. Students were allowed to create drawings, paintings, poetry, raps, songs---anything they wanted to do as long as it was relevant to Ellington. Julius said he wanted to compose a song, stood up, and commenced to singing his blues creation like an old man. "You all have to say, "Dun DUN dun dun DUN", he said. Everyone provided accompaniment, clapped and we all got a good laugh. His improvisation was excellent, and the approval of his classmates meant a lot. He was a little entertainer, and like most of the kids, just wanted to be heard, safe, encouraged, and respected.

I was only mad at him once. 

On the day of the project exhibition, two buses of students traveled to The Smithsonian Museum of American History. Brenda Collum, our Science teacher, and three parents went along as chaperones. When we got inside, we split up in groups. We'd had a pleasant day, and headed outside to board the buses back to the school. We'd done the customary head count, and everyone found their seat partners, except Julius was nowhere to be found. When I asked if anyone had seen him, one of his classmates said "Julius said he was going to the Monument". Somehow, he'd gotten away from the chaperone under the guise of a bathroom break, and swore to secrecy the classmate he told of his plan. The buses were on a schedule and I began to panic. The thought of telling a parent that their child was missing terrified me. I was in tears. Brenda assured me that we'd find him. We decided to let the parents head back to the school with the students, while Brenda and I lagged behind to search for Julius. We figured we'd take a taxi back to SE. 

Just as the buses filled up, I heard, "There he is! There's Julius!"

Julius was grinning, running like the wind, out of breath, and already had a story. I was relieved and furious at the same time. "You can't just leave the group! What were you thinking? Anything could have happened to you!" He looked up at me with those sad eyes, and before he could get a word out, Brenda asked him where he'd been. "You had us worried sick!" Julius said he'd seen everything in the museum, was bored, and wanted to see the Monument up close. He figured no one would miss him, and asked who told on him. He said he'd been okay, knew what time the bus was leaving, and didn't think he'd done anything wrong. He was still grinning as if he'd been proud of his adventure.

Brenda told me to go and get on the other bus and calm down, and she'd keep an eye on him. When we got back to the school, he ran to me and apologized profusely. He said he didn't mean to worry me. 

I knew that.

Rest in peace, JuJu. My sincere condolences to your little ones and loved ones.